The three of them laughed but it gave them something to think about.
The Grandmother clock struck 2:00 p.m. and John stood, stretched and said, “Guys, I’m going downstairs and change, then go home, shower and hit the sack.”
Rocko added, “Ditto for me.”
Bill walked them to the door and said, “Hey, guys. I just want to thank you both for going on this mission with me. It was a bit crazy and I could never have done it alone.”
Both John and Rocko nodded their agreement. “Thanks for the trip back, Bill. It was fun,” said John as they shook hands.
“Same here,” added Rocko, “it’s not too often that I get to pilot a classic boat such as the one we did on this mission. Any time you need me, Bill, just call.”
Bill slapped both men on their back and said, “Thanks again, boys, Matt and I could never have made it on our own.”
After the two men left, Bill opened his communicator and wrote, MARYELLEN MULDEY: HISTORY TRACKING GROUP.
GOOD AFTERNOON MS. MULDEY. WE JUST RETURNED FROM THE MONA LISA MISSION AND WISH TO TELL YOU THAT IT WENT ACCORDING TO PLAN WITH THE END RESULT OF US RETRIEVING THE ORIGINAL MONA LISA. WILL YOU PICK IT UP OR SHALL I BRING IT UPLINE? ON ANOTHER NOTE WE STUMBLED ACROSS A COUPLE OF PEOPLE THAT WE CONSIDERED FICTIONAL CHARACTERS BUT TURNED OUT TO BE FOR REAL! WE BELIEVE THAT YOU AND YOUR GROUP WILL BE PLEASED AS WELL AS SURPRISED AT HOW IT TURNED OUT. MY FULL REPORT WILL BE IN YOUR HANDS BY THIS TIME TOMORROW.
REGARDS, BILL SCOTT, PRESIDENT 1800 CLUB, 2014.
Within two minutes he received her reply.
THAT’S GREAT NEWS, BILL, WOULD YOU MIND IF I VISITED YOU IN A FEW MINUTES?
Bill typed back, THE DOOR IS ALWAYS OPEN FOR YOU AND YOUR GROUP. BILL.
He went and opened the door for her and then sat back on his couch and waited. Within five minutes she tapped on the open door.
“Maryellen, please come in.”
They shook hands and she said with a smile, “After that message I just had to come and visit. May I see her?”
“Certainly,” he answered as he placed it on the coffee table.
“Oh, it’s beautiful!” she turned to Bill and went on, “I can’t wait until I read your after-mission report.”
“Believe me, it’s one of the weirdest ever.”
She pursed her lips together and said, “Bill, I have a problem. I don’t know anyone at the Louvre and I’m afraid that if I offer to replace their Mona with theirs with this one, they’ll kick me out.”
“Mmm,” answered Bill as he pondered the problem. “Actually, if we went back and prevented it from being stolen, that would stop the public from hearing about her and it was the robbery itself that made her world famous and worth the millions of dollars. In fact, the best way to return it and guarantee that it will get the publicity it needs is to switch the fake one that Vincenzo Peruggia had in his room with this one, the real painting.”
“I agree,” said Maryellen, “I don’t think that I have to send you a hologram for a new mission. Do you?”
“No,” said Bill, can you get Peruggia’s address in Italy and text it to me?”
The lady from the future stood and nodded as she smiled and offered her hand. “Bill, you and I see things in the same light. It’s a pleasure working with you. I’ll see what else I can dig up on him for you.”
“That’s great, Maryellen,” Bill said as they shook hands, “I’ll get back to you after the switch.”
“And,” she added as she opened the door to her own time, “I can’t wait to hear about the fictional characters you met.”
THREE DAYS LATER
Bill, Matt, John, Rocko and the painting were aboard the French liner, La Douce France. It was scheduled to dock at the Port of Livorno, Italy before ending its voyage in France. As usual Matt had put together their ensembles, purchased the travel tickets and set the reservations. Although they had separate first-class cabins, together, they enjoyed everything the ship offered such as swimming, gymnastics, shuffleboard and more. They usually ended the evening with a walk around the deck while smoking cigars. Ten days later they docked in Livorno, Italy at five p.m.
DATELINE: DECEMBER 9, 1913 PLACE: LIVORNO, ITALY
The four time travelers hopped aboard a train that was headed to Florence, forty-five miles away.
The car was small and dark compared to the trains in the states, but the red cloth-covered seats were thick and soft. The inside of the car smelled like a cross between tobacco and cheese, and all of the male passengers seemed to be smoking thin, black self-rolled cigars that gave off a distinctive order and the women all carried shopping bags of provolone and other cheeses.
“Gentlemen,” said Rocko as he inhaled deeply, “this is the real Italy. Close your eyes, take a deep breath and we are in my grandmother’s kitchen as she prepares a dinner of meatballs, macaroni, red sauce and provolone cheese. Ahhh, it’s the best.”
The four time travelers looked out of the windows as they passed small groups of houses, all gaily painted. There seemed to be white sheets hanging from every window and children playing in the streets as an older woman who wasn’t needed in the kitchen watched over them. Although the small gardens were empty this time of the year, the men were busy repairing the wooden structures that held their grape vines while others looked over their fig and olive trees. It was two hours before they entered the Hotel Palma Blanc.
The four time travelers were happily surprised to find the hotel’s lavish interior sported beautiful dark brown leather easy chairs and couches. As the name suggested there were large planters with long, off-white palm fronds in them strategically placed around the lobby. A thick light blue rug went from one wall to the other and brass spittoons were placed near the chairs. Three steps down was a short bar with six stools and the mirror behind the bar made the lobby look larger than it actually was.
They went over the menu and decided that they should all have a different dish to make sure that at least three of the four will not be incapacitated if the food was off. Rocko volunteered to have the Saltimbocca while the novices ordered what he considered ‘everyday Italian dishes’.
After the waiter left John asked, “Rocko, what the heck is Saltimbocca?”
“Ahhh, Johnny, it’s a fantastic dish of veal, prosciutto and sage, rolled up and cooked in dry white wine and butter and topped with capers. It’s delicious! That’s why they call it Saltimbocca.”
“Why? What does that mean?”
“Saltimbocca means ‘Jumps in the mouth’. In other words its aroma is as good as its taste.”
After dinner they enjoyed brandy and another cigar and at ten o’clock they stepped out of the hotel for the fifteen-block walk to Peruggia’s rooming house.
“Remember, guys,” said Bill, “this is just a reconnaissance run. Tomorrow night we make the switch.”
“Guys,” asked Rocko, “are we sure that tomorrow night he’ll be eating at a restaurant?”
“Yep!” answered Bill, “He left his apartment at 8:00 p.m. and ate at the Hotel Baglioni Santa Croce which is right around the corner from his apartment. He left the restaurant and returned to his place at 10:00 p.m. At least that’s what he told the police when they took him in. But to be sure that he doesn’t interfere with us as we make the switch, Rocko and Matt will be on guard in front of his apartment building.”
The four time travelers looked natural as they chatted while they walked along across the street towards Vincenzo Peruggia’s apartment building. When they were exactly opposite it, Bill stopped and lit up a cigar, as they surreptitiously looked it over. They could see the flicker of an oil lamp from one of the two windows on the second floor.
“That’s our guy,” said Bill as he blew his match out. They resumed their walk. “As I said, according to Maryellen Muldey he goes out every night at eight p.m. for dinner in the restaurant around the corner.”
“Mmm,” said Rocko as he rubbed his stomach, “Maybe I’ll eat in the same place he does tomorrow night
and keep an eye on him while you guys make the switch.”
Bill nodded, “Good idea.”
“As for tonight,” said Bill holding up a bottle, “Champagne and cigars in the hotel lobby.”
“Lead the way!” said Rocko.
As it was a fifteen-block walk back, the four hopped a tall, square taxicab that belched smoke that almost matched the cigarettes the driver smoked. As usual, they each sought a window to watch pre-war Italy go by. It seemed that the later it got, the more lights the stores and cabarets lit, which added to the gay atmosphere. Although it was close to eleven o’clock, children tagged along behind their parents as they strolled along the streets.
The four time travelers enjoyed the wine and another cigar in the hotel’s lobby and were in their rooms and asleep by midnight.
They had breakfast at eight and followed the same routine as the many tourists that filled the beautiful city by taking in the sights. They stopped in a small restaurant for lunch and Rocko ordered for them in his native tongue with the result that the owner kept the food coming as well as the wine.
“Guys,” said Bill as he pushed his chair back, “I can’t take another bite of anything.”
“Pretty good, huh?” asked Rocko with a big grin.
“Yes,” said John, “But tell me, do you know the owner or something?”
“Ha! No, he’s just happy when he hears Italian spoken with a New York accent.”
“Well,” said Bill, “I’m going back to the hotel and take a nap.”
They all agreed and it was close to three in the afternoon when they returned to the hotel.
“Matt,” Bill asked as they entered the lobby, “are you going to eat here with John and me or with Rocko at the Italian restaurant?”
“I thought that I would dine with you and John, sir. This way I shall be on guard at the entrance to Peruggia’s apartment house as you and John make the switch.”
“Okay,” said Bill. Then we have a plan.” He looked at his watch and went on, “I suggest that we eat at six so that we will be near Peruggia’s apartment around eight o’clock.”
“And I’ll follow him to the restaurant,” added Rocko.
Rocko had just a small dish of macaroni while the other three time travelers ate their full meals. It was seven-fifteen when the four men left the hotel and walked over to their target’s apartment house.
“I’m starving,” muttered Rocko as they passed many small restaurants along the way. The other three men just grinned.
“But,” said Bill, “You had a dish of pasta with us, Rocko.”
Rocko looked shocked as he replied, “One dish of macaroni does not make a meal, my friend.”
It was seven fifty-five when they reached the corner of Via Giovanni Verrazzano, Peruggia’s block, and they stopped, stood and chatted casually as they puffed on their cigars while at least one of them watched the apartment building’s door at all times.
“Eight o’clock sharp and our man has just opened the door,” said John.
”Is he alone?” asked Bill.
“Yes, and he just went down the steps and is heading towards the corner.”
Bill nodded, “Time for you to go and eat, Rocko.”
With a slight wave, Rocko stepped off in the same direction that their target did. The other three men stood and watched the building for a few minutes to give Rocko a chance to get to the Hotel Baglioni Santa Croce to watch Peruggia.
Bill and John entered the apartment building the same time that Rocko entered the hotel.
He walked through the hotel’s lavish lobby and spotted a man standing by a set of swinging mahogany doors. He was dressed in a dark blue, double-breasted suit with a red silk shirt and matching pocket-handkerchief. His highly shined black shoes matched his slicked back, jet-black hair and waxed mustache.
Rocko went to him and asked, “Mi scusi, sir, è presente il ristorante?”
(“Excuse me, sir, is this the restaurant?”)
He smiled and answered, “Sì, signore, è. Avete una prenotazione?"
("Yes, sir, it is. Do you have a reservation?")
Rocko shook his head as he answered, "No. Sono appena tornato in città e ho sentito dire così tante cose buone che io ho pensato di provare a cena qui."
("No. I just got into town and I've heard so many good things about it that I thought I would try to have dinner here.")
The man’s face lit up with a big smile and he said as he opened the door for him, "Il mio amico, per favore si faccia in questo modo. Dimmi da dove vieni? Il tuo Italiano è buono, ma l'accento mi dice che si usa. Ho ragione?"
("My friend, please step this way. Tell me, where do you come from? Your Italian is good, but your accent tells me that you are from America. Am I right?")
Now it was Rocko’s turn to smile, “Sì, sì, in America. New York. IO sono qui per pochi giorni e ho dovuto provare il ristorante."
(“Yes, yes, America. New York. I'm here for a few days and had to try your restaurant.")
The man guided Rocko to a corner table and said, "La nostra migliore, il mio amico. È possibile vedere chi entra prima di vedere." He shrugged and went on in a lower tone of voice, "a volte alcuni dei nostri clientele lasciare a metà il loro pasto quando la porta si apre, non so se mi spiego."
("Our best table, my friend. You can see anyone who enters before they see you." He shrugged and went on in a lower tone of voice, ("Sometimes some of our clientele leave in the middle of their meal when the door opens, if you know what I mean.")
Rocko grinned and sat as the man clapped his hands and a short elderly man seemed to appear from out of nowhere. He wore a black suit with a red silk shirt and a red handkerchief in his breast pocket and he too wore his black and gray hair slicked back.
The first man said to the waiter, "Domenico, portare il mio amico una bottiglia del nostro vino migliore.”
("Dominic, bring my friend a bottle of our best wine.”) He then turned to Rocko and added, "Venite a provare il nostro ristorante, il mio amico. LASCIO ora."
(“Please enjoy our restaurant, my friend. I shall leave you now.”)
Rocko grinned and said, "Grazie, amico mio, so CHE."
("Thank you, my friend, I know I will.")
The restaurant was not very large, as it had no more than fifteen tables that were all taken. There was a row of square columns that had electric lamps secured to them and they all resembled torches that were used years ago. Attached to the columns and beneath the lamps were long mirrors that amplified the light given off by the lamps. The tables and chairs were white with gold edging and faux marble tops while the floor was a red and white mosaic tile that resembled the well-to-do homes of the ancient Romans.
The wine was fantastic and Rocko ordered the one dish that he grew up on, the one dish that his mother made better than any restaurant he had ever eaten in: spaghetti and meatballs.
The guy was right, thought Rocko as he used the mirrors on the columns to spot the small, thin man sitting alone around the corner from him. It was Vincenzo Peruggia and using the same mirrors, the man constantly looked around as he ate. Rocko grinned as he noticed that the man had a large white napkin with splatters of red sauce on it tucked into his collar.
Seeing that it was only nine-thirty, Rocko asked for the check and then sat back and enjoyed the wine knowing that Peruggia couldn’t leave without him seeing him go.
From behind him came a tall, slim man in his thirties. He was dressed in the same double-breasted suit with red shirt and handkerchief as the man at the door. He also slicked back his salt and pepper colored hair and he had his hands clasped humbly in front of him. "Mi scusi, amico mio, possiamo parlare un momento?"
("Excuse me, my friend, may we talk a moment?")
"Naturalmente, sir. Posso aiutarti?" asked Rocko.
("Off course, sir. May I help you?")
The man answered with a smile, “IO sono l'orgoglioso proprietario di questo ristorante e l'udito, lei ci ha parlato in Inglese ho pensato che fors
e avrei potuto chiacchierare un momento perché sto in America e mi piacerebbe sapere se avete sentito il mio inglese era buono."
(“I am the proud owner of this restaurant and hearing that you spoke English, I thought that perhaps I could chat a moment as I am going to Australia then America and would love to know if you felt my English was good.")
“Well,” said Rocko as he put out his hand, “Let me introduce myself. I’m Rocko Perna from New York.”
“Ahh,” said the man as he shook Rocko’s hand, “My name is Ceasar Cardini, and I have been taking American lessons so when I move there they will understand me.”
“You mean to say that you have taken English lessons,” corrected Rocko with a smile. “I think you’re English is great and nobody will have a problem understanding you.”
“Ahh, that truly is good news. They say that everyone in America can become rich if they try hard.”
“Well, it’s not that easy, Caesar. It’s good if you have a special something, you know, like making the best spaghetti and meatballs in New York so that your restaurant becomes famous for that.”
“I do have a salad that I make for my family. Nothing special, but it’s made with romaine lettuce and olive oil.”
“Sounds like you have the beginning of a Ce, ah, a . . . “ Rocko stopped as he suddenly remembered something he read a few years back. He looked at the man and said, “I’m not a chef, but what if besides romaine and olive oil, you added croutons, Parmesan cheese, lemon juice, hard boiled eggs, Worcestershire sauce, garlic and black pepper and to make it more special, mix it up at the customer’s table.”
“My friend,” Caesar, asked, “that sounds fantastic . . . is it something that the New York people like?”
“Actually, no. All I did was add to your recipe. But as a person from New York, believe me they will love it and to go further, if I were you I’d call it ‘Caesars Salad.’”
Book 11 Page 23
